


last but not least

by sirnando



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnando/pseuds/sirnando
Summary: Fernando had promised Sergio that it was the last time... and promised him again.. and again... and again.. and





	last but not least

**Author's Note:**

> i have not written sernando in around 3 years probably, but have recently been extremely nostalgic towards my original otp, so here it is. this is in no way pornographic but there's suggestive imagery so be aware of that. as always, feedback/reaction appreciated xx

The last time they promised each other was the day before Fernando's flight to Liverpool. Against the door to Sergio's house, while Fernando rubbed his dick through Sergio's jeans and looked up at Sergio who forced himself to not keep his head from leaning back into the door. Forced himself to count the forty two freckles sprinkled on Fernando's nose. He had one hand tugging Fernando's hair, the other one trembling by Fernando's own. But all he received was a swat and a kiss on the bulge begging to be released.

Fernando had turned his attention to Sergio's mouth, placed his lips on Sergio's chapped panting ones and moaned “This is the last time” into the shell of Sergio’s ear, bucking their pelvises against one another for emphasis. Licked a line from Sergio’s cheekbone to his chin and ended it off with a wet x. Just for the symbolism. A trail Sergio traced with his finger as he watched Fernando strut to his car.

It had been a recommendation, not a promise.

~

Sergio experimented the first few days. Out of curiosity, out of pure lip-biting desire. “God I want your ass..” he'd send. Watch the little notification that the message had been read pop up. He felt Fernando's smile, his smirk, felt the tremor of his neck from a moan against his lips. The messages added up, the notifications ping'ed against his thigh. And then it came, a week since he had left.

“Next month.” was the response. That would be the real last time, was what followed. 

And the next month Sergio found himself watching Fernando walking up to him, a bag slung over his shoulder. He could taste the desperation on Fernando before he even kissed him. Saw it through his balled fists, fluttering eyelids, pursed lips.

It was easy. Fernando dropped the bag to the floor and conformed instinctively into the shape of Sergio's chest, rested his head and gave Sergio permission to nibble at his earlobe. Permission to have his arms held down so Sergio could start eating away at his neck. To extract England from him. Remind him of the burning heat he left behind. Fernando writhed, grinded into Sergio’s pelvis at times, because Sergio bit too hard, but Sergio just offered his fingers to suckle. Fernando froze still. Made a small o of his mouth around each finger that Sergio plucked in and out from between his swollen lips. Allowed Spain to be branded back onto his skin again.

~

"How is England anyways?"

Sergio gnawed at Fernando's hip bone nonchalantly, dangerously close to his cock but Fernando was too tired from the first two times to be aroused. It was relaxing. What he was used to. The sun shone into his eyes and he squinted through his bangs down to Sergio splayed out below him. 

“Wet. Not the good kind.”

Then why stay?

"Out of necessity."

~

This'll be the last time, Sergio, was what he felt poured into his mouth while Fernando fought for his tongue. They were splayed naked on Sergio's bed, Fernando draped over Sergio. He had finished kissing every inch of him, from the heel, knee, every knuckle, across his collarbone and to the top of his head. A flurry of butterfly kisses that left goosebumps and tickled shakes. Sergio warned him that England was making him too dramatic. Fernando insisted he had to remember every part as he licked his way around Sergio's mouth, against his teeth, inside of his cheeks.

He'd unglued himself from Sergio and the latter didn't bother to walk him out. Watched him get dressed with an arm propping up his head and winked as Fernando blushed out the door. "Until next time." Rang in his ears.

~

Fernando told him that if there would ever be a next time, it would come after quite a long while. He was busy. Accustoming himself. Meeting new people. Taking tests, going to trainings. Picking up on English.

Sergio had assured him that the only English he needed to know was "No thank you" for anyone who showed interest. Fernando had sighed but Sergio heard the amusement.

"It'd be easier if you came here." Sergio's cue for amusement. An offer he pretended to think about before deciding, fine. If he had to. And Fernando had never known Sergio to rationalize about decisions anyway.

~

There was nothing interesting about Liverpool besides the knitted sweaters that Fernando started wearing. Sun kissed skin didn’t belong in that cocoon of wool, but Fernando insisted.

Fernando introduced him to the cold. To the clouds. To driving on the wrong side of the road, to swearing that Sergio was, for once, unable to join in with. And to the blonde mop that Sergio ran his fingers through, tugged at.

He got a tour of the apartment Fernando was renting. Shabby, small, temporary, but Sergio still reminded him of the house he had in Spain. Laughed at the mattress on the floor that he called his bed. One they had to re pump with air after every night otherwise Fernando's tailbone was pounded through the plastic and against hardwood.

The food needed salt. Sergio didn't remember their diet including microwaveable noodles but Fernando insisted it was a staple of simple living. Before you hit it big. Spain had given everything it possibly could have, Sergio mused. Fernando claimed it wasn't enough. Wasn't Premier.

~

The last night on the mattress, Sergio asked him if he'd ever come back.

For a visit?

Forever. 

His head was buried into the crook of Fernando's neck, bobbed up with the shrug. "The dream hasn't even started here." Sergio wondered when the dreams he drew out for him in Spain ended. 

~

"We keep saying this but this'll be the last time." That was his goodbye. A kiss under Sergio's chin and a shove towards his waiting taxi. "The season'll start for real now." He had mentioned something more about the screaming fans he had to impress, as if the ones back home had ever stopped.

Sergio had nodded along. The "until next time" still rung but had lowered an octave. He watched through the car window as Fernando brushed his hair back. Mirrored Fernando's wave with a vague swipe of the hand.

~

"I miss you." He let it slip out two days after over the phone. Fernando had asked him to repeat, because he’d missed it over the clatter of his pots.

“I said Liverpool is boring.” It had seemed shorter the first time, but Fernando didn’t question. Threw his broccoli in the water, shrugged into the phone.

“It grows on you.” Like an unwanted fungus, but Sergio kept that comment to himself. Picked at the leaves of his windowsill flower.

“It’s your turn to travel next.” Sergio filled the silence. He heard Fernando’s breathy laugh.

“We have to find a real last time some day. This’ll be too hard.” Sergio had not said anything. “Give me two months. Provide me with that luxury at least.”

Neither told them about the matching calendar notes they marked.

~

Two months was too long. Sergio constantly licked his lips when on the phone with Fernando. Chapped and cracked them. Fernando bit his nails to the beds. Was too unbothered to clean them up from the floor, so they dug themselves into his soles.

But it was relieved when Fernando found himself in Sergio’s bed. When Fernando’s spit moisturized his lips. When Sergio kissed the tattered remnants of nails on all ten fingers.

“This is the last time.” Fernando’s voice was muffled since half his mouth was swallowed by the pillow. His eyes were closed, leaning into Sergio’s touch at the edge of his lips.

Until when? “Six months at least.” Sergio swallowed over the lump rising in his throat. Six. Sergio’s lips would fall apart until then. Fernando would lose his nails. But he didn’t say anything, allowed the response-lessness to become his answer. Instead he dug his nose into the pillow, crashed into Fernando’s cheek. The sigh was simultaneous.

~

Fernando found himself a girlfriend. An attempt to transform all these last times into true last times, because the thought of Sergio a plane ride away ate at his stomach. Wanting him. Not having him. Too far away.

But she was not enough. That became unbearingly evident sooner than Fernando had imagined. He had envisioned her as a step down from Sergio, but a relief. The nicotine patch before you reached for the cigarette in privacy. But he realized he needed a box of patches to make up for the pack of cigarettes that Sergio had been.

She wasn't the taut skin stretched over sculpted shoulders. There was no sweat snaking down muscled thighs. Fernando couldn’t suck the same pathways into the spaces in between tattoos.

"I need you." Four months of the six. And Sergio did not need a reminder to create an excuse and find himself on Fernando's upgraded twin mattress bed. Their limbs hung off of it, Sergio had to press himself into Fernando's chest, against his nipple that he rubbed his nose into. Fernando's legs wrapped protectively around his waist, flicking the top of his head whenever Sergio nipped at the nub. 

The noise of traffic was too loud for sleep, but they both assumed the other was asleep so their silence persisted. Fernando studied the cracks in his wall. Followed the zigzags to the the floor where Sergio’s clothes were clumped. Sergio had his eyes closed, lips pursed in a half kiss against Fernando’s abs. Both unmoving. Unwilling. Already growing unsatisfied with Sergio’s departing plane in the morning.

He was gifted with a parting kiss on the lips this time around. “This is the last time.” straight in the eyes, eyebrows raised for emphasis. Sergio choked on the “Until when” because he thought maybe it’d be easier to leave it as a surprised. Who knew when Fernando would knock on his door. But Fernando had spent the night mentally carving Actual Last Time among the cracks in the wall. It had to be.

Sergio never met her. He didn’t want to. And Fernando neither wanted to introduce nor talk about her. He ran his fingers over Sergio’s departing bicep, flashed his carvings in front of his eyes.

~

It was an unsatisfactory choice for Fernando. But it was one he he knew was necessary. There was no point of dragging on a fling across the ocean when he knew there was no possibility of him returning to Spain or Sergio joining him in England. He had thought of a different word but said fling aloud.

He smiled for her. Smiled for his teammates. Played well. Harvested the screams he worked so hard to elicit. She moved into his new home. Expensive, lavish, over furnished. Sergio would have - it did not matter.

Sergio’s lips were on the verge of falling apart. Iker had to apply ointment to them himself. His boots were too tight. His house was too big. His hair attacked his eyes. The windowsill flower lost all of its petals.

Fernando found himself wanting to punch cracks into his newly painted walls because it had started becoming more difficult to remember his reminder on the smooth ones. But his fist only ever bumped places lightly. His forehead knocked harder when he slammed into them with a groan.

~

They had laid in the grass, during one of the earlier Liverpool visits, in the pouring rain. Eyes sore from the droplets that fell into them. It was relaxing, what Fernando had grown used to. Their outlines were pressed into the grass, Sergio felt mud creep coldly onto his back. He had turned to Fernando, watched the blonde locks plastered to his cheeks. 

They were going to catch a cold tomorrow. But instead of telling him about his soaked socks, the tea they should brew to stop the runny noses, that he wouldn't mind his own ugly sweater at this point, he let "Did you even love me?" Slip through his lips. Less of a slip, more of a shout that cut through the pattering. And Fernando didn't even give him the courtesy of eye contact before he muttered Maybe.

~

It had been eight months with nothing but sometimes a period that Fernando sent. Sergio had no idea what they were to mean but he opened and studied the contents heavily. All it was was a reminder, reminder that Fernando still remembered, but he had balled up their memories into a small period and rolled it into the back of his head. Only reached for it sometimes when it was safe. It wasn’t suspicious. She could not accuse him for sending punctuation.

And then one day after those six months, it was a Come with a period. Sergio’s breath hitched when he read the friend that arrived with the period. Safe. Reserved. Where was he supposed to come? When? Why? Questions that tingled themselves to the tip of his fingers but couldn’t escape. But they were meant to be left unanswered because the only way he would get the response was by going.

“Here.” An address. A stray butterfly in his stomach that expanded his chest. Tugged at his vocal chords.

He was met with a Fernando who was stirring his drink lazily with a pinky. There were eight other shot glasses scattered around him. Eyes hazy, lolling back into his head lightly. So this was the type of reunion he had meticulously planned for them. Unmemorable. The butterfly found a way out of him.

Sergio hovered near him, refrained from greeting because it wouldn’t register in Fernando’s brain anyway. But Fernando hooked his thumbs in the waist of Sergio's pants and pulled him towards the stool, in between Fernando's parted thighs. He felt the heat emanating from Fernando cut into him. Smelled the alcohol roll off of Fernando's tongue as he slurred something incoherent, but for once Sergio had misplaced his usual urge to throw back some glasses as well.

Fernando was evidently begging for something, his left cheek rubbing up against Sergio's lower belly. So he hoisted him up by the armpits from the stool, staggered back as Fernando fell, giggling into his ear.

"Sese please ...." he drummed petal fingertips on both sides of Sergio's jaw. Sergio clenched it. He had forgotten the last time the name had been used. "F-f-fuck me ...... like you .... you used to," he was breathless, spit showering the side of Sergio's head.

But all Sergio allowed was some sloppy kissing in the back of an alley, spread out on dirty cardboard because Fernando wasn't capable of keeping his legs standing straight. Sergio didn't have the energy or will to grip his thighs if Fernando had straddled him. Was afraid he'd crush him if he laid down onto him. Afraid he wouldn't be able to roll Fernando off if it was reversed. So the cement rubbed cuts into his palms from where he leaned over. He didn't hold onto Fernando. Distasteful in these conditions.

And after they had finished, after Fernando had grunted into the darkness that Sergio felt constrict his stomach, after Sergio had left his moans in the form of hickeys on Fernando's chest, he collected himself, helped Fernando get dressed. He spread his hand out, laced Fernando’s sloppy fingers between his own. Lead him to a hotel room, to the bathroom. Lukewarm bath water and apple scented bubbles that kept trickling down into Fernando’s parted mouth. He kept coughing and drunkenly complaining, hunched over naked in the tub. Sergio just wiped the spit from under his pouted bottom lip and kept massaging circles into his back with a sponge that should’ve been thrown out a long time ago. He waited until Fernando had uncurled himself in bed, till his breath slowed and evened, before locking the door behind him.

Sergio did not get a call in the morning. The only sound he heard was the mental fizz of Fernando’s aspirin in water.

~

Fernando did not reach out because there was nothing to say. For one because he had minimal recollection of the experience. Second, because he was not going to make it harder than it should be. He knew he would be drunk. He had planned it that way. To not remember but live with the unconscious satisfaction that he had done something about it. He would not blush if asked what happened. He would answer truthfully - nothing. Nothing he could remember.

But there was still that little pinprick of something in his chest. Bristles irritating his lungs that he tried to brush off but Sergio’s own silence kept sweeping them back.

He had finally punched a crack into the basement wall. Imaginarily traced The Last Time with the bed of his right index finger.

~

Sergio was painfully aware of the closed door that Fernando had started conveying to him, but he couldn't help himself from peeking underneath it from time to time. Checking for messages he knew were not waiting for him. Typing up his own soliloquies full of embarrassment before erasing them. Saving the drafts for the next spurt of courage. Couldn't help but imagine fights with Fernando while standing alone in his kitchen. What he'd say. Where his arms would move in fits of irritation. Which way his jaw would twist as he threw fucks at him. Where he'd place his hands on Fernando's hips. How Fernando's breath would feel traveling down his neck. He only ever mouthed the "sorry's".

Yet something possessed him to not reach out first. To let the silence between them thicken. If Fernando cared, then he would do it himself. 

He had granted himself the pleasure of wearing one of Fernando’s shirts to bed once. Scraped the scent off of himself the next morning, until his skin turned raw.

~

Fernando had started to want to let her go. Had no desire to drag her into the landfill he had been living in. But she was pregnant. Unplanned. Unexpected. For Sergio, unwanted, but he was never presented the opportunity to express that because Fernando never called with an announcement. Sergio had the pleasure of reading it on newspaper headlines - The Kid Was Having A Kid. Every magazine in Spain, ones he bought from the kiosk where he noticed it first. Ones he sat in a pile of, cutting triangles into Fernando’s smiling eyes. X’s into hers. Paper mache made with toilet water and spit that he threw against his walls. The ink had started coming off, left red, blue, black streaks on its way to the floor.

Sergio had rubbed ‘Why’ into his skin with the head of a dull pencil. Scraped the red marks under his forearm, where no tattoos reached, and took a photo, sent it to Fernando. Except Fernando no longer notified him if he saw the messages, so Sergio stared at the same screen, at the white space under the bubble. Stared through the night until the sun peeked through and the screen was shattered with a reminder to Get Up! Do Something With Your Ass!

He got a response three months after sending the picture. “I forgot.” And was it forgetting why he left? Why they stopped talking? Why he got her pregnant? But Sergio never asked. For one because of the vow he made to stop trying so hard in the midst of evident disinterest. Second because the I Forgot was followed with a lone period.

~

Two years of periods. Sergio had swallowed the hope in his throat when that one was sent. But they kept coming. 

He kept his eyes averted from magazines. Kept his ears closed off to anything that started with an F. Shook his head no in response to questions asking how Fernando was. Didn’t he know? He used to.

~

It took Fernando two years to collect the periods and materialize them into a ticket. To erase The Last Time with his knuckles. To tell her he had to leave momentarily. Business.

Two years before he found himself on Sergio’s doorstep unannounced. And Sergio had stepped outside in shock. Touched his shoulder. His collarbone. His cheeks. Traced his lips. And all Fernando could do was conform himself to Sergio’s shape and mumble “I still do.” into the shell of his ear. It had been pouring rain.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope the conclusion makes sense, feel free to ask otherwise


End file.
